


'Til Now, I Always Got By On My Own

by perfectlystill



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Developing Relationship, F/F, Karaoke, Mentions of Racism, Mentions of homophobia, Misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlystill/pseuds/perfectlystill
Summary: So Carol gets not wanting to go to Panchos with the boys. She does. But she’s never been one to sit something out. She plows through, shoving her way in, even (and especially) when she’s not welcome or wanted.It’s the principle of the thing. Proving herself.Or, Carol and Maria’s first time at Panchos Bar.
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau
Comments: 18
Kudos: 64
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	'Til Now, I Always Got By On My Own

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darlininmyway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlininmyway/gifts).



> There are mentions of misogyny, and a few brushes with it, as well as mentions of homophobia, racism and misogynoir. Everyday things Carol and Maria would experience, but not much more than that. Title from Heart's "Alone."
> 
> darlininmyway, I had a really fun time writing this for you! I didn't even know it was a story I wanted to write until I got my Yuletide assignment, and I appreciate the opportunity to discover this fic in an attempt to bring some joy to your holidays. I really hope you enjoy it, and happy yuletide!

Maria is the only other woman in Carol’s flight unit post-bootcamp, and when one of the arrogant pilots gives Carol a wink and a nudge, inviting her to Panchos, Carol passes the invite along to Maria, too. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Maria says, swinging her bag over her shoulder. 

“Come on, it’ll be good for team bonding.”

Maria scrunches up her nose. “I’ll pass.”

“Please,” Carol whines, clasping her hands in front of her to avoid clasping them around Maria’s arm. 

“It’s not going to be fun, Danvers. The guys are going to get drunk, bet on which one of them can take you home, and then try to marry you off so you stop thinking you can be a pilot.”

Carol’s eyes widen, a gasp, all faux shock. “Who’s going to tell them I _am_ a pilot?” 

“If they won’t listen to you, they definitely won’t listen to me.”

“Come on,” Carol repeats. “If not for morale, then to kick their asses at pool?”

“Tempting,” Maria says, a sympathetic tilt of her head. “But I have to get home.”

“Okay, fine.”

Carol sighs, still longing to go. She rolls around the idea of showing up alone, downing a shot before ordering a beer, and ingratiating herself to the boys’ club.

It probably won’t work. 

Training was almost impossible, not because of the math and science tests, not because of the rope climbing, and not because she was forced to wake up before the sun every day. The crushing feeling of isolation seemed designed to promote failure. The way all the recruits were worn down was worse for women; misogyny running rampant. 

It must have been even harder for Maria. In addition to everything Carol encountered, she no doubt contended with racism. 

So Carol gets not wanting to go to Panchos with the boys. She does. But she’s never been one to sit something out. She plows through, shoving her way in, even (and especially) when she’s not welcome or wanted. 

It’s the principle of the thing. Proving herself. 

Maria doesn’t have the same desire -- problem? Inclination? Whatever it is that pushes Carol, something else pushes Maria. 

Carol wants to find out what. 

“You coming this Friday?” James asks. 

Carol hums, readjusting the flap at the collar of her flying uniform. It’s pretty useless; she won’t see the inside of another plane today. There are too many men raring to circle the sky. “Maybe.”

“I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“You passed the eye exam, too.” 

“I’ve got 20/20,” James brags. He’s all thick eyebrows, broad shoulders and chiseled jaw. 

He’s handsome, but Carol doesn’t find him particularly attractive. She doesn’t find most men attractive. Whether it’s the pompous attitudes, or her preference for kind smiles and soft curves, or some combination of the two, she doesn’t know or care. James, like most air force men, believes he’s a gift to womankind. 

Carol snorts. “20/15.”

“That wasn’t very ladylike,” James says. 

“Having good vision?”

“The pig noise.”

Carol spots Maria inspecting a wing behind James and his big head. “Maybe you’ll be able to teach me proper etiquette some day.” She brushes passed him, spinning on her heels. “Maybe teach me the polite way to brush off unwanted advances?” 

Maria’s on a ladder, increasing her height advantage. “What?” she asks, an edge of amused exasperation. 

“Panchos seems to be a regular thing.”

Maria leans one hand against the plane, looking down at Carol. “That’s nice. You planning on marrying Will or Bill?”

“Neither.” Carol grins. “You free?”

“Sorry?”

“Friday night,” she clarifies. She thinks about marrying Maria, a flash quicker than the speed of light. “I think we get an air force discount on cheap beer. And Pat apparently threw up last time. We wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“Nothing like watching an asshole puking up his guts to boost team morale,” Maria says. 

“That’s already one person we could drink under the table.”

Maria swallows, looking out at the rest of the hanger. “You ever gonna let this go?”

“And miss out on a chance to have you hold my hair back? Never.”

Maria laughs. It’s a good one: warm and kind, hearty. “I’ll have to ask my mom to watch Monica, but if she agrees, I'm in.” 

“Yes!” Carol punches the air in victory. It’s too much, always too much. But Maria laughs again, shaking her head, so Carol reaches up for a high-five. 

The loud, resounding sting of Maria’s palm against hers is good -- powerful. 

Carol rings the doorbell, bouncing on the heels of her combat boots. She curled her hair, applied some mascara, and rubbed perfume samples sent in the mail onto her wrists. 

Her stomach swoops when Maria pulls the door open. 

She grins. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Maria finishes pulling the sleeve of her leather jacket over her shoulder, calling back into the house, “Thanks, Mom. I won’t be out too late, promise.”

Carol leans to see the woman behind Maria: friendly eyes, full lips, beautiful, smooth skin with the beginnings of crow’s feet at the edges of her eyes. 

“Don’t worry. Monica’s been sleeping through the night, anyway,” her mother says. 

“Hey, Mrs. Rambeau!”

“Hello. It’s Ms. Howard, actually.” 

Carol feels the heat rush to her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Of course.”

“You must be Carol,” Ms. Howard says. 

“Yes. It’s so good to meet you.” Carol shoves her hand between Maria and the door. Maria’s mother grabs it with both of her own, shaking. “Maria doesn’t talk about you much, but I’ve weaseled some stuff out of her.”

Carol knows Maria lives with her parents and her daughter. She knows Maria’s husband, Frank Rambeau, was a military man who gave his life while serving in Libya. She knows Maria loves her family, anxious to get home to them every evening despite the thrill on her face whenever she lands a plane.

It’s a familiar thrill to Carol; the exhilaration of flight.

Ms. Howard laughs. “Well, she always says she didn’t join the air force to socialize.”

“I can’t blame her. We work with some real scumbags.”

Her eyes widen a second later.

“I didn’t mean that,” Carol says. “I mean, I did. I just don’t want you to think that I--”

Ms. Howard laughs again. “From stories Maria’s told me, I’d say you’re right.” She smiles, finding her daughter’s eyes. “I like this one.”

Maria sighs. “She’s alright. You don’t have to wait up.”

“Have fun!” 

“I hope so,” Carol chimes in.

Maria and her mom exchange quick _I love yous_ before Maria shuts the door. Carol hears the click of the deadbolt behind them. “Your mom is nice.”

“She’s great,” Maria agrees, stepping off the small porch. 

They climb into Carol’s car, buckling their seat belts. “She has a hint of a southern accent.”

“She’s from Louisiana. Raised me there. I know she and my dad would like to go back.”

“Why don’t they?” Carol asks. She flips her blinker, glancing at Maria. 

“They moved out here to help with Monica. My mom wanted me to be able to fly, didn’t want me to give up anything. Figured with Frank dying, I’d lost enough.” She pauses. Carol watches a streetlight pass across her face before staring at the taillights of the car in front of them. “If they’d let us actually do something instead of warm up the engines for the guys, that’d be better.”

“Men can’t concentrate if they’re sitting in a cold cockpit, Maria,” Carol quips. 

Maria chuckles, a quiet, breathy thing. It’s different from her laugh at work, and Carol likes it, wondering what her uninhibited, full-bodied laugh sounds like and how to coax it out. “I don’t know. It’s probably more distracting to know we sat there.”

“Because women shouldn’t be allowed to fly planes, or because we have good butts?”

“Does it matter?” Maria asks. 

Carol can hear the amusement laced through the words, but as she merges onto the highway, she can’t risk a look at Maria’s smile. 

“Not really.” She sort of shrugs. “How’s Monica?”

“A handful. She’s got so much energy. She’s always trying to get someone to roll her ball to her or running around the house with her toy airplane.”

“I would have killed for a toy airplane. I had to steal my brothers’ GI Joes and bribe them to let me join pick-up games.”

“So you’ve been dealing with assholes your entire life?” Maria asks. 

“Pretty much,” Carol agrees, changing lanes to speed by someone in a rusting truck. “I’m still trying to convince my parents I haven’t committed some crime by going into the air force and not becoming a teacher or nurse.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. You’re the only lieutenant I like.”

“It’s purely selfish, then?” Carol asks, her mouth flirting with a smile.

“Absolutely.”

She catches Maria’s eye, their laughter intermingling, sparking something warm and tingling in Carol’s chest. 

Shutting the car door, Carol pulls the handle to double check the lock. It’s finicky, tending to stick open. 

“What’s the game plan?” Maria asks, rounding the front of the car. 

“Shots, then beer?” 

Maria looks down, shaking her head, hair swaying. Carol clenches her fingers around the urge to run them through the strands. “You’re ridiculous.”

“In a good way, though.”

“I guess.” Maria smiles, nudging her shoulder. 

“We’ll just feel it out. The buddy system has never failed me yet.” Carol links their arms, lifts her chin, and nods toward Panchos. “If it’s terrible, we’ll grab In-N-Out and work on our James impressions.”

“I’ve heard his lecture about sitting with my ankles crossed enough to have it memorized,” Maria says. 

“Just because you’re wearing a flight jumpsuit,” Carol tries, “doesn’t mean you have to sit like you have something between your legs.”

Maria laughs, pulling open the door. 

Panchos is cozier than Carol expected, covered in paneled wood, rustic tables and chairs, low lights enhanced by the exhales of smokers, the burning tips of their cigarettes. The walls are lined with pictures of air force alumni, a jukebox, a pinball machine. 

It’s karaoke night, and Ted is butchering “Livin’ on a Prayer.” A handful of their colleagues spread across a couple of tables. 

Carol tugs Maria to the bar. She gestures toward Ted, bending until he’s on his knees as he belts off-key. “You up for it?”

“Maybe after a shot or two.”

“On the bright side, there’s no way we can possibly embarrass ourselves more than that,” Carol says.

“I don’t know. I think it’d be more embarrassing if he was less committed.”

Tilting her head, Carol watches Ted fistpump. “I think you’re right.”

“What’re you ladies, having?” the bartender asks, wiping the counter with a discolored towel. 

Exchanging a look, Carol suggests, “Kamikaze shots?” 

“Sure,” Maria agrees, mouth curving up. 

“Too on the nose?”

“I hope not.”

They clink their glasses together before downing the shots, heads tilted back; the lime and orange are tart but sweet. Carol wipes her lips with the back of her hand and watches Maria lick the corner of her mouth. 

Carol isn’t sure if it’s Maria’s lips or the alcohol that has her stomach pleasantly churning as they order a couple of beers. Neither of them want to toe the line of drunk tonight, the bar unfamiliar, and the other patrons all too familiar. They grab a booth, and Carol apologizes when her boots brush against the toes of Maria’s. 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Carol says, sipping at the foam before it dissipates. 

“I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

“Yes, you did!”

“I’m kidding,” Maria says. An aborted laugh escapes her throat; another variation for Carol’s list. “Thanks for inviting me. This place is nicer than I thought it’d be.”

“I agree. I expected much worse.”

“How does being out with the boys feel?”

Carol grins, letting her eyes drift over the bar before going back to Maria. “I still want to prove that I can drink them under the table and kick their asses at pool, but I don’t think they’re half the company you are.”

Maria’s smile is small, sincere and sweet, sweeping toward shy.

Something heavy drops in Carol’s gut. She’s not being particularly subtle, and Maria’s particularly clever. Carol can trace the path this outing takes as it potentially sours. She doesn’t want Maria to feel uncomfortable. She doesn’t want to overstep, knowing how grimy it feels when a man touches her knee, leaning too close to whisper unwanted compliments in her ear. 

But as she sits across from Maria, Carol knows she likes her.

In high school, when Deborah Williams furrowed her brow and frowned, asking what was wrong with Carol after she leaned in, Carol felt the rejection at a base level. It was a pulsing ache, worsened when Deborah told Lisa who told Donna who spread the news around their small school like wildfire. 

She doesn’t want that now, even if she trusts Maria would keep it quiet. 

She wants Maria to be her friend. 

“You’re right,” Maria agrees. “I am better company than all of them combined.” She sips her beer, and Carol nods. “And so are you.”

It rockets up Carol’s spine, forcing her to sit straighter. 

They laugh about Bill’s meltdown over a compliment given to Carol for a flight he co-piloted, expecting the praise for himself. They discuss particulars of their grueling bootcamp experiences, and Maria groans in pity when Carol admits she doesn’t even know what a beignet is.

When they finish their drinks, there’s a lull in karaoke. Carol stands. “Come on. It’s our chance!”

“Oh, no.” Maria scrunches her nose. “I’m still not tipsy.”

“You’ve had an entire beer!”

“I don’t think beer is the beverage people refer to when they say, ‘liquid courage.’”

“You had a shot!” Carol argues, grabbing Maria’s hands and tugging. 

Maria laughs. It’s a loud, uninhibited one that causes Carol to laugh, too, causes her to tug harder as Maria leans back into the booth. “Not this time, Carol.”

“Fine.” She sighs, dropping Maria’s hands. “Next time.” 

She points at Maria, smirking, before she spins and marches toward the karaoke set-up. Will and James are searching their options, so she sidles right in. “Hey, guys.”

“Didn’t expect you to show up tonight,” Will says. 

Carol hums, flipping through the song list. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

James scoffs. “You’re incredibly predictable.”

“Mind if I go first?” Carol ignores them, selecting her song before either man can respond. 

The tinkling piano of “Alone” doesn’t blast through the speakers so much as trickle out. There’s an artificial quality to it, and Carol doesn’t know if it’s the bar’s shitty soundsystem or how the track really sounds. 

She grabs one of the microphones, swinging the cord around, getting comfortable. “I hear the ticking of the clock,” she talk-sings. “I’m lying here, the room’s pitch dark.”

Carol swallows, feeling James and Will’s judgmental stares. As she continues, looking around the bar, she notices some patrons bobbing their heads but not paying her any attention. A couple pilots watch; Mark has always been kinder to Carol and Maria than the others, and he tosses her a smile when she spots him. 

Rolling her shoulders back, Carol grabs the microphone cord, shifting it across her body and finding Maria. 

Maria’s eyes are wide and bright. She bites at the corner of her mouth, nodding at Carol. Her smile grows, and as Carol gets into it, reaching her hand out in dramatics worthy of Ted, Maria mouths the words right back: “But the secret is still my own. And my love for you is still unknown.”

Carol’s heart thuds loudly in her ears, a new kind of electric bass. Her stomach flutters, more excited than scared, like when she was little and speeding down a hill on her bike, not pressing the break even when she felt on the verge of crashing, wind blowing her hair back, smile stretching to its limits. 

The next word comes out shaky and quiet, an awed timbre. 

She looks away, catching her breath. 

Carol commits to the last half of the song with fervor, bouncing on her knees, tossing her head so her hair swings around her face, and kicking out her foot in beat with Heart’s inherent drama. She half-screams into the mic and throws her head back, laughing as the instrumental slows to a finish. 

She wipes at her forehead, handing the microphone to James or Will or somebody else; she’s not really paying attention. 

Maria’s clap slows as Carol approaches. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Carol asks, sliding in across from her. “I nailed it.”

“You started off a little pitchy.” 

“Shut up!” Carol gently kicks at Maria underneath the table. She feels flush, adrenaline spiking in her blood. It’s good. 

It’s really good.

“Here,” a guy says, sliding some brightly colored cocktail in front of Carol. “I bought this for you.”

The high fades quickly. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she says, looking at him with a thin, pressed smile.

He nudges the orange concoction toward her. “Come on, I spent my hard-earned money on that.”

“Then you can drink it yourself.” She pushes it back. 

“Don’t be an ungrateful--” 

This time, when he shoves the drink at her, it tips off the edge of the table, spilling all down her shirt. 

“What the fuck!?” Carol says. She sets the glass back on the table, peeling her T-shirt away from her skin.

“You should’ve just accepted the drink instead of being so difficult,” he grits out. 

Rage flashes through Carol, bright and burning. She shoves out of the booth, hands curling into fists at her sides. “You know what they say when people assume things.”

“Sorry,” he sneers. His voice is flat, calm.

Carol clenches her fists tighter, short nails digging into her palms. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be such a stuck up bitch. Why don’t you take your little girlfriend,” he says, nodding towards Maria, “and get the fuck out of here?”

“Son of a--”

“Hey,” Maria cuts in. Her voice is soft, but the hand circling Carol’s wrist, halting the wind up to a punch, is firm. “He’s not worth it.”

Carol feels Maria’s skin on hers, feels the solid, steady presence of Maria standing next to her, and instead of yanking her hand away and punching the arrogant asshole sizing her up, she follows Maria out of the bar.

Her grip on the steering wheel is too tight the first half of the drive back to Maria’s. She feels the impending cramp and forces herself to relax. The radio fills the space between them, and Carol can sense Maria glancing between her and the window. 

“Sorry,” she says.

“For what?” Maria asks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh.”

Carol exhales, eyes shifting from the road just long enough to take in Maria’s friendly gaze, mouth barely upturned in a sympathetic smile. There’s no pity, just a thread of understanding weaving itself between them. 

She puts the car in park in Maria’s driveway, leaves the headlights on, and awkwardly leans over to give Maria a hug. “Thanks for coming with me.”

“Without me, you’d have an assault charge to your name,” Maria says.

“You think? It wouldn’t be too much of a blow to his ego to be beaten up by a girl?”

Maria lets out a breathy laugh, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “A pretty white girl like you? Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Shit. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even think--”

“I know.” Maria reaches across the small space between them, hand resting warm over Carol’s jacket.

Carol lifts her arm to rest her hand over Maria’s. “For the record,” she whispers. “I think you’re beautiful.”

When Maria blinks, her eyelashes seem to flutter, casting shadows across her cheekbones. Her eyes are soft and wide in the dark, sliding down to Carol’s mouth. A momentary thing that erupts in Carol’s chest.

“Would it be okay if I…” Carol swallows, unbuckling, shifting to better face Maria. 

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” she asks again. 

“Yes,” Maria says.

They both lean in.

The kiss is tender. Maria’s mouth brushes over Carol’s delicately, a soft, warm press that flutters around her stomach. It lights up her insides with a golden warmth that flows through her like honey, reaching her toes and fingers. Fingers that curl around Maria’s. Carol’s other hand steadies her with a gentle grip to Maria’s arm. 

They break apart, foreheads pressed together like their mouths had been. 

“That was nice,” Maria says. 

Carol giggles, wonders if Maria can feel her breath. She’s a little concerned it smells unpleasantly like beer. “Yeah, it was really nice.”

Maria squeezes her hand, their fingers laced together. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Maria.”

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Carol watches Maria walk around her car, through the headlights and to her front door. She grins when Maria waves goodbye, once when she gets to the porch, and again when she turns to lock the door behind her, amused. 

Carol laughs. 

Maria makes her feel the same way flying does: jubilant, exhilarated, unstoppable.


End file.
